Croi Scrite

Friday, September 25, 2009

As you know I have a wonderful new website - www.dlbach.com. Well, the wonderful and mega talented graphic designer who has so graciously and beautifully set up my website has also set up three blogs for me attached to my website. You can find all three blogs ~ Parky's Prattlings, Meniere's "As The World Spins" and DeeEl's Mo Chroí Scríofa ~ in the links tab of my website. Or find quick links in this post. See y'all there.

Monday, August 3, 2009

You may remember back in February I posted I Wanted You. This was a poem that I wrote while coming to terms with not being able to have children. Recently I have had a lot of things going on with me. Mid June the grommets in my ears which had held me in a remission state, or as my doctor put "well controlled", decided to eject themselves a month early and threw me into a tailspin. During this time we also discovered that I have a new trigger ~ the wonderful weather that I love so much in East Tennessee. The doctor replaced the grommets with ones that should last about two years (YIPPIE!!!!). While getting back my sea legs back following this I decided to attend a couple classes put on by the Knoxville Writer's Guild (KWG). I did pretty good except being told in no uncertain terms that the so-called publisher that released my book should not be called a publisher at all. I also had more people who should know, telling me I should give up on the dream I have of writing for a living in the manner I have been dreaming of and should just get a regular job.

I was discouraged. I quit writing. I have been out of work since October 31, 2008. I am the only one paying my bills. I have no one to turn to to help me with these bills. Currently I am living on my small inheritance I received after my father died 2007. I did the math (some of you know how good my math skills are) and if I am very good, I will exist a few more months and then no more. What further discouraged me was reading on Facebook and Twitter the status updates of those I know and they were posting their "Woe is me" status' and how wretched their jobs and families. They have jobs. They have families who will make sure they do not go hungry. Some are in school to further their education. Yeah, they have it rough.

Another thing looming and causing me pain was my impeding 44th birthday. Getting old and having nothing to show for it has done a number on me. But the worst part that everything went back to was no children and not being able to have them. A few people know why this is. Fewer know why this is devastating to me. I made the conscious decision not to have children due to having Meniere's Disease. My thoughts toward this decision are regarding the possibility of no longer being 'well controlled'. Since being a girl is one of my triggers I stand the chance that the increased hormonal activity will once again thrust me into the fiery breath of this dreaded dragon I have been battling for five years. If this happens the possibility of my having drop attacks would increase and therefore the possibility of my having one while pregnant or while carrying the baby after birth and possibly killing the child. I cannot put anyone in that situation especially my own baby.

After coming to this decision and posting I Wanted You, many have told me I could always adopt. This statement has only served to bring me even more pain. Adoption is an option of course. However, I was raised to be a mama. I would daydream about it endlessly as far back as junior high. I didn't just daydream about having a baby in my arms, I dreamt of being pregnant and actually giving birth. I always wanted to field my own softball team. Yes, I wanted at least ten babies all by natural childbirth. I did not dream only of the 'romantic' side of having children. I longed and yearned for every aspect of being a mother. This is the dream that has been crushed for me that is the hardest for me to fully accept and move beyond. In June I wrote another poem still trying to deal with this. I cried over every line and every word but could not fix a title for it. I read it at my Wednesday Writer's Circle and asked assistance from those who heard. The suggestion that was mentioned that settled best with me was Fingerprints. I am in hopes of finding someone who will assist me so I can take a photograph and then submit both poems and the story to a couple women's magazine for consideration and publication. For now, I hope you will find something in my meager words.

Fingerprints

I polished the brass todayand the glass I did cleanthen I turned, seeking printsand eyes smiling with a gleaminstead I was looking throughmy spotless window glassand perfectly waxed ismy antiqued knobs of brassI scrubbed and I scouredmy many pots and panswishing they could just once bedrums for tiny, happy handsdown upon my hands and kneescleaning to shine my tiled floorbut in my mind it should beadventures for you to exploreI dusted off all the woodreturning the threaded sheenlonging for tiny fingerprintsbut only dust was to be seen.

Alone I sit lamentingdeafened by the sound of my tearswanting the pain to go waytrying to drown my many fearsall my life held one goala mama I was to berunning, laughing and playingwith more than just two or threebut, alas, the fates they stepped inand dreams cannot come trueI searched and tried to reasonbecause I really wanted youthere was no easy waybut I searched and tried to findthe choice that I had to keepto only you I have been kindnever will of my belly growto give you your first homemy loving arms will never holda baby all my ownmy breasts will never knowa tiny suckling babetry as I can, dreams of my heartthose memories will never fade.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

I know, I know. I went to New York in April and here it is June. Well, forgive me for not getting this done sooner, but I have been working hard trying to set up my writing business. My trip to NY did not end with me going from the airport to the hotel and having the bajeezies scared out of me in the process. I spent four days and three nights in the city that NEVER sleeps.

Trust me, New York never sleeps. I was on the 33rd floor of my hotel and am hearing impaired and I could still hear the noise on the streets below. The first night I slept, maybe, a total of 45 minutes. I actually got up and ironed ALL of my clothes. I didn’t have internet at that point so I couldn’t check my e-mail or even visit with my friends on Second Life. So I ironed and then flipped through the 10,000 channels on the television.

My purpose for losing my mind and acting upon an insane whim by going to NY in the first place was to attend The New York Round Table Writer’s Conference. The conference began at 8 am Friday morning and ended 5 pm Saturday evening. While I attended lots of panels and learned lots of stuff (mostly how ignorant I am of the writing industry) this was not my entire trip. One of the first things I noticed was that New Yorkers LOVE Starbucks. There is a Starbucks on every corner and one or two in between. The 4 Star Hotel I stayed in (thanks to hotwire.com) served ONLY Starbucks coffee. The biggest issue with this? I don’t like Starbucks.

I will drink Starbucks if there is no other choice or if the other choice is Folgers or some other generic coffee. I don’t know if I will ever have the opportunity for another trip like this, so I wanted what I wanted and would not just settle. This meant schlepping across the street to the little deli for their coffee. **note to self ~ when traveling, take your own coffee.** I did sit there the first morning and wrote a poem while enjoying my real coffee and a fresh bagel.

************The Morning Deli

Coffee or teahot cocoa to gositting, waitingThe Times in handtasty aromastease and delightbagels, breadpastries, piebiscotti and muffins, tooplease one, entice allbehind the counterapron of bluea smile with coffeemade just for you.

April 24, 2009

************

Getting back to the hotel the first day was interesting. I learned that you cannot call for a taxi cab in NYC. You have to ‘hail’ one. OY!! Well, we (I had a bit of help) couldn’t get one so I had to hobble around the corner. I went into the drugstore for a moment and came out to hail me a taxi cab. At the moment I arrived at the curb, a boy on a giant tricycle came up to me and asked if I needed a ride. He took me all the way back to my hotel for $20. He went in and out of traffic and between vehicles and WOW was that an interesting ride.

Saturday, I finished the conference and my feet were killing me. I was so proud that I traveled with only one pair of shoes as opposed to one pair for each outfit I packed. This was so not a good thing. Blisters happen. After the conference I was advised where to go for shoes and a larger suitcase (I took my smallest one and it was already over full and I decided to buy two books that I would not be able to get home). I bought the case, but they didn’t have shoes. I went to hail a taxi cab to the hotel and well, things got ugly.

For those who don’t know me well, I really hate large crowds of people. My biggest fear with this trip was getting lost. Well, things got real ugly. I had my briefcase, my new suitcase and my cane trying to hail a taxi cab in a very large crowd of people. I had no idea where I was or which direction my hotel was. I was LOST!!! Yes, I had a panic attack right there in New York City. I tried to keep moving, but with all the people and not being able to catch my breath, I didn’t’ go far.

I saw a little alcove nearby where no one was inhabiting. I ventured there and scooched up close to the building trying to regain my composure. All of a sudden people flowed into my little haven and began taking photographs of the statue in the center of the enclosed area. A man came out of the building and as he tried to speak to me, I cried harder and got more intimate with the wall behind me. He said the place was a church and perhaps they could help me inside. Eventually to get away from the new crowd, I stepped inside the glass doors. Finally, a woman came in and I told her I just needed someone to call me a taxi cab, again, NO CAN DO. She went further into the building and a man came out and politely asked me to leave. The nice lady came back and lead me outside to help me hail a taxi cab while trying to help me calm down. As she was flagging down a yellow security blanket for me, I glanced back and noticed where I had been ~ St. Francis of Assisi Church. Yes, that one.

OY! My camera did not come out. But I had a major panic attack at a famous location and didn’t know it. I got back to my hotel and two hours, one hot shower and two adult beverages later, I was recovered from my total meltdown. New York should not have been my first big trip. However, I did learn a lot about the writing industry and mostly about myself. My trip was not the ideal trip that people imagine when going to New York. I did not want their kind of a trip, but this one didn’t meet my expectations either. I file it under education as I most assuredly received one.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

On Thursday, May 7, 2009, I awoke early with my mind swirling around with ideas (not an unusual thing for me). One of those ideas was to use my Twitter and Facebook status to write one line of a poem everyday. While a few here and there made comments on the individual lines, I don't believe anyone really picked up on what I was actually doing. It isn't any wonder that my first line of the poem was "Where should I start?" I wasn't really sure how this would progress nor if I would really follow through everyday (after all, I am getting old and tend to forget things). I also wasn't certain which direction this would take. Sometimes when I sit down to write about something, it takes on a mind of it's own and comes out totally awing me; for example my poem As I Go. This was just meant to be a simple little ditty and turned into a piece that I want read at my memorial when I pass on. Enough of the froo froo. No editing has been done to this piece. I would re-read the individual lines each day to make my progression, but today is the first I have put them together. I read this morning and decided the poem had an adequate conclusion. Now for you to read all together and offer your comments and feedback...

One A Day

Where should I start?How do I begin?To write what's in my heartWords for you to hearBe they pretty, be they boldSwirling around inside my mindLonging to splash and dance upon my pageForevermore to delightTo give joy or remembrance.Bringing about truth or excitation.Dwelling in a world of fanciful lassOnly one thing overflows my sensesThe essence of your sweet soul

Thursday, April 30, 2009

Yes, it’s true. I dared venture up to the Big Apple. I teetered back and forth not knowing for sure if I was really ready for such a trip. Finally, I made up my mind to not only go, but to take a nibble on the apple myself. My apprehensions would remain even as I was in the security line at the airport to leave. I made it to the plane and took off, my mind filled with more emotions then I thought could happen all at once.

The night before I was to leave friends advised that I should hold two words in my vocabulary ~ f*** you. These words have never been part of my vocabulary, so I tucked the advice away and went forward.

Entering LaGuardia airport I looked around as much as I could while making my way toward baggage claim. It seemed every shop had at least one item which read “I YNY”. I suppose if I had bothered taking the time to get past my fears at McGhee Tyson, it would have been a similar scene with all the Volunteer items. Reaching my destination I peered intensely looking for my one small suitcase. It was not there. Gaining assistance, I found my case and made my way to call for the shuttle service to the hotel.

Following a minor security issue with the shuttle driver not wanting to show his ID to airport personnel, I was led to the waiting van with a very amorous couple behind me. We stowed our luggage and climbed aboard to be off to fetch six more souls to be distributed to various hotels around New York City. Finally, we were taken to the streets of NY where I was bitten by the Big Apple.

Well, perhaps it was the worm which bit me. Either way culture shock rocked me to my very core. My knuckles turned white as I clung to my laptop case as if my life depended on my not letting go. The fifty-something woman sitting next to me let out a gasp equaling mine in intensity but much louder as the shuttle driver just missed bowling over at least a dozen people on Broadway.

As we sped through the obstacle crammed streets of New York City I watched the blur of people and thought about the locusts which plagued Egypt to convince Pharaoh to set the Children of Israel free. No, I am not calling the residents of NY nor the city’s many tourists, swarms of pests. There are just so many of them and I couldn’t understand why anyone would choose to live this way.

Now the questions begin. Am I sorry I went to New York? No. Will I return to New York in the future? Probably since it is the writing capitol and I am a writer. Do I desire to live there? After this if I have to answer this question, you didn’t read the paragraphs before. Do I love New York? I love a dear Second Life friend who lives there and perhaps someday we shall have lunch and she will slap me around telling me how wonderful NY is. Until then, I am very happy to be back home with fewer people and I will try not to complain about the wretched drivers in Knoxville ever again.

Stay tuned to this frequency for the possibility of further sketches of my adventures in New York City.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Taking the challenge of a writer friends blog post from a metaphor prompt he uses, I felt compelled to write this piece. I have never written anything like this before and perhaps I will never write anything like it again. Know and understand I am in a good frame of mind and this does not reflect feelings of despair in any way. Please have no fear for my safety.

As I Go

If I should wake before I diepray tell me only where I lieof melodies sweeta hummingbirds treatand gems sparkling in the sky.

If I should wake before life’s completeLull me back to restful sleepTo dream of days far awayWhen I would run, skip and playThe folly of insightful lass.

If I should wake before life’s endHave at my side the sweetest friendTo recall evenings of delightdancing under moon’s shimmery lightfacing tomorrow full of hope.

If I should wake before I dieplease don’t dare breathe a sighjust turn and give a tender smilesending me that one last mileAs I go so silently.

Monday, March 23, 2009

I became a writer at the tender age of thirteen when, as a seventh grade student in junior high, my English teacher began a segment of lessons on poetry. I never knew I could write before this time although I had been told I saw things differently then the rest of the world. My writing evolved from poetry to songs (music is still in my head for them) and even had friends ask me to write things for them to present to boyfriends.

In college I enjoyed writing papers in Eng 101 and 102. My favorite style there became "Argument and Persuasion". No, I am not an argumentative type of person, however I have tested and proved that in my writing I can lead my readers to my way of thinking. I just forgot about that over the years and went in other directions with my writing.

I never dreamt of being a writer. I just loved writing. It became the voice for this painfully shy girl. I found that in my written words I could say things I would never have the courage to audibly say. Prior to writing my first novel, my friends had to 'convince' me to write it. I did not consider myself a novelist. A poet perhaps, but a novelist, no. So my wonderful friends worked at pushing me to take up pen and pad to write my first novel. I was relaxing one evening in mid June 2001 and took a pen a pad near me and started jotting down the characters. By mid March 2002, I was finished writing. There would still be a lot of editing and refining to be done, but the manuscript was completed.

Last year, pretty much as a joke I submitted an on-line query to a publisher for this manuscript. I was dumbfounded when they said they wanted to publish it. I thought, due to a stupid mistake I made, that this was never going to happen. So last week, I began making plans to self-publish a book of my poetry. While doing this I got the confirmation that my novel will be on shelves shortly. I will go forward with both books now.

Why the history lesson, you ask? To show you that a dream I never had is coming true. After losing my job in October and considering the evil dragon called Meniere's that has entered my life, I knew that my writing must become my career. I began talking to people in the business and reading. One of the first pieces of advice I received was that to be a good writer I must read and read, and do more reading. This I am doing.

I began seeing ideas for writing articles everywhere I looked. I started reading up on them and trying my hand at writing some. I subscribed to The Writer and started learning more. A recent article I read told how the author became a freelancer. My thought was "I can do something like that too". About a month ago I took an on-line career test to see what it suggested I do with my life. The main choice was writing. A tie for tops was working in a museum.

I love museums of all kinds. I began thinking about how to tie the two together. I can write about museums and special exhibits in museums. I started looking for publications where I can publish these articles. I found the American Association of Museums (AAM) and didn't think I could get into it as I do not work for or own a museum.

Today, I filled out the form and was granted membership to the AAM. On the application I put "I am a freelance writer writing about museums and special exhibits". I didn't think I would be accepted, but low and behold, I WAS. I called myself a Freelance Writer and was granted admittance to one of the most prestigious organizations within the community I desire to write in.

DL Bach FiledBy

Read My Work ~~ Know Me

DL Bach is my pseudonym. I am known by many folks by other names, but always I am the same.
I first picked up a pen to write a poem when I was thirteen years old. My wretched Eighth Grade English teacher gave an assignment to write a poem.
Then, taking pleasure in torturing kids, he made us write more poems and compile a book. Yes, we had to make the book from cardboard, cloth and
paper. I don’t know what ever happened to that book, but the poems, I saved. Now, thirty years later, I have penned hundreds of poems, songs
and more.